Dear LCQF
by CharlieQFIsFabgay
Summary: based on The Clown Punk, please review... CHARACTERS BELONG TO RESPECTIVE OWNERS
1. Dearly Beloved

Dear Lucy Q,

Uniqueness is a strange sort of thing; it can be a great ally or a formidable enemy. Others can't see the crippling grip of conformity, the controlling dictator. The Slave Master, harsh over its slaves, but you can break free of the chains. Freewill and determination. Truth and Strength. Standing for what you believe in. All these things are good. Yet some people will try and pull you down. When they say you are alone, reply that you are –so what? You can be alone without being lonely. When they laugh at your tattoos, laugh at their inability to be bold and express their opinions so clearly. When they pull you down, just remember that only means you're above them. There is no upper hand so I'm giving you mine. You have to stand up for yourself, but there is no shame in asking for someone to help you up. Reject anything that isn't truly you. Be yourself, everyone else is taken as a wise man once said.

I'm sorry I'm not going to be there anymore. I am truthfully sorry I won't see you grow and mature. The nineteen years we had were the best they could be and you are, frankly, an inspiring person. You are stronger than the knives that are thrown at you. Sadly I couldn't take them anymore. Well, do you have the time to listen to me whine? Yes? Well, let's start from the beginning shall we?

I was often referred to as The Clown Punk; everyone thought I was a freak- a clown. Well I may have seemed stupid but I wasn't. I heard their bullets. I felt them tear through my flesh and settle under my skin. It was like a movie, but someone had broken the remote and when everything feels like a movie, you bleed just to know you're alive. My music taste was pre-judged for me, I actually loved a lot of music. Being a 'Punk' doesn't limit you to punk music. Don't get me wrong I don't regret my life choices. I was the 'High Punk' I was the king of the punks. Then punks started to die out but I would never give up the punk values. I was alone and it, at the beginning, didn't bother me. I carved out my path in stone, but I didn't seem to realise how short-term that would be. See, in the summer of '69 I found a reason to live, rather than just exist. I had my new six strings and I looking very different. No tattoos for starters. That and my blue Mohawk. Somehow I managed to make your mother fall in love with me anyhow. I was in the park, as usual as my dad had kicked me out, and I was playing my guitar, Quinn- yes I know that's your middle name and I understand you're probably not too happy with that fact but… Where was I? Oh yes. Park. These young, innocent, sweet looking women walked towards me, I looked down, waiting for the hateful words. She asked whether I liked Pink Floyd, which wasn't so punk more rock. Once I'd said yes she smiled and said that her father lied then, you can have things in common with 'The Clown Punk' and then she asked for my name. Dustin, I reply. She asked many questions that night and at the end I had but one to ask her, why was she here, she's a pretty girl. She should be sleeping in a nice warm bed not huddled up on an old bench under the stars. She ran away from home, she'd fallen for The Clown Punk- though I didn't know that at the time. She loved, rightly so as well, Bon Jovi. We both fell in love either music and then for each other. Then… They took her. We weren't allowed to be married. We're thrown to the streets. It's clear why heaven called her name. She was an angel. She was needed back in heaven. Don't fall in love, it's just too much to lose.

I promised her fifteen years from that day. I promised your mother you would be honest. True. I promised that you would find yourself before I left to follow your mother. You never met your mother, but if you did, you'd understand why your eyes are alive where mine weren't. You look just like her. It was hard. But I left because I needed to join your mother. I love you. I will be forever with you, with this letter. Within my dog tags that are now yours. Take care of yourself. Trust your gut, not your eyes. I love you. Remember my words at the start and I'll be with you.

Love,

Dustin Blue


	2. We are gathered here today

So, that's what my father wrote, in his neat hand. He left it, labelled Lucy Charlotte Quinn Fabray. I knew that something was wrong, as he hated calling me my full name. My mother had died when I was young. I fold it back up and finish preparing myself to go on with my day but somehow I end up at Berry's House. As I sit there, contemplating my dad's letter, it hits me. That was his suicide letter. That's when the tears burst through and I run to the Berry's front door I knock hoping to god Berry answers. When the door swings open, I see a bewildered-and armed- Berry... She must be home alone again. Helps. I just break down into her arms as she softly asks what's wrong. I manage to mumble dad and suicide. She seems to get the point as she grabs my hand and leads me to the coffee machine. She knows how to calm me down. Once I'm calm I look up to see Berry wearing a whip cream moustache from her hot chocolate. It makes me laugh and I point it out to her. She goes, to wash her face probably. Oh god. She comes back... with a fake moustache that matches her hair perfectly.

After my drink she puts her (very soft, unmanly, gentle, caring) hands on my back and allows me to cry my broken little heart out. I never understood how Rachel could be so caring after all I have done to crumble her, the little star bounces right back up to be in the sky again. I don't know at what time, but I end up crying myself to sleep.

* * *

><p>I don't know how, but I find myself curled up hugging someone warm. Yes. Lucy Charlotte Quinn Fabray is a hugger. Wow big whoop. I feel them get up, and walk out the room. I listen for while before falling back asleep. The smell of a freshly ground black coffee and soft singing under someone's breath. She, I guess, is trying not to wake me up but is at the same time, I am not as weirded out as I should be. I stretch and blindly grab my coffee. I push my head of my face to see Rachel sorting through her clothes pulling out a top that is black with a cherry saying Bite Me and a pair of dark blue jeans, while only wearing some skinny jeans. Deciding to mess with her I say "Mornin' Berry". She smiles pulling a top on. This is gonna be a long day.<p>

You know what? I honestly think I may be in a coma. That's the only explanation. Rachel Barbra Berry is making me bacon. Just because I asked. Even though it goes against her Jewish upbringing, as well has her vegan diet. She made me more coffee and bacon. No, I must of died and gone to Heaven, though I distinctly remember a lack of pearly white gates. You see I I woke up to the smell of food and coffee. Then as I put ontje vampire bunny slippers left there for me, I hear a soft voice, singing one of my favourite songs.

_Strange maze, what is this place?  
>I hear voices over my shoulder,<br>Nothing's making sense at all.  
>Wonder, why do we race?<br>When everyday we're runnin' in circles,  
>Such a funny way to fall.<br>Tried to open up my eyes,  
>I'm hopin' for a chance to make it alright.<em>

_When I wake up,  
>The dream isn't done.<br>I wanna see your face,  
>And know I made it home.<br>If nothing is true,  
>What more can I do?<br>I am still painting flowers for you, woah._

_Show my cards,  
>Gave you my heart,<br>Wish we could start all over.  
>Nothing's makin' sense at all.<br>Tried to open up my eyes,  
>I'm hopin' for a chance to make it alright.<em>

_When I wake up,  
>The dream isn't done.<br>I wanna see your face,  
>And know I made it home.<br>If nothing is true,  
>What more can I do?<br>I am still painting flowers for you,  
>I am still painting flowers for you.<em>

_I heard everything you said,  
>I don't wanna lose my head,<br>When I wake up,  
>The dream isn't done.<br>I wanna see your face,  
>And know I made it home.<br>If nothing is true,  
>What more can I do?<br>I am still painting flowers for you,  
>I am still painting flowers for you,<br>I am still painting flowers for you._

I smile, looking at the distracted Rachel. "Sup, Berry..." I say pouring myself another coffee. Rachel smiles back and replies. "I burnt my tongue but other than that I'm good. What's put Quinn 'HBIC' Fabray in such a talkative mood?" She replies, with concern in her eyes. "Well, its talk or cry more, and I don't think I have anything but coffee to cry anymore.


End file.
